


Watashi no Tamago

by Galadriel



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Embedded Images, Gen, Illustrated, Introspection, Memories, Post-Series, Surreal, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-04
Updated: 2001-01-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel/pseuds/Galadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nanami wanders through the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watashi no Tamago

**Author's Note:**

> Although she is not mine, I love Nanami. Somebody should.
> 
> Notes: Takes place sometime after the end of the series. This 'fic is probably the most surreal one I have written to date. I've tried to keep with the illusory atmosphere that pervades _Utena_ , but whether I've been successful or not is another story. Think of it as an experiment--it's more about atmosphere than plot, although there is a plot buried in there. Thanks, FC, for the marvellous illustration and your positive comments.
> 
> Oblique spoilers for most of the series, and more specifically for the _Black Rose Saga_ and episode 27, "Nanami no Tamago" ("Nanami's Egg").
> 
> (Originally written for _Appendix A: The Anime Alberta 2001 Fanfiction Collection_.)

The girl, alone and silent in the vaulted room, crossed and uncrossed her legs impatiently. She glared absently at the wall, matching its hard surface with her own. The moments clicked by, the girl and the wall waiting for the other to break.

On the table across from the girl, a yellow petal peeled itself away from its nestled mates and spiralled to the floor. The vase and roses scoffed at its journey and crowded closer together.

_If it does not break the egg's shell, the chick will die without being born._

There was a barely audible _pop_ as a crack spidered its way across the wall and the girl. Rising abruptly from her perch on the mahogany and tapestry sofa, she strode across the wooden floor, her heels clicking angrily against the varnish. Behind her, a maiden in a faded lemon dress slowly regained her proportions on the recently vacated cushion.

She stopped in front of a bank of windows and pressed her forehead against the glass. A little oval "o" obscured her vision momentarily as her breath warmed the air between her lips and the pane.

_Nanami!_

"Onii-sama?" She jerked her head up, looked around the empty space and sighed.

_We are the chick._

Crossing to an overstuffed armchair, Nanami threw herself bodily into its depths. It creaked and drew its arms closer to her warmth as she slumped against the backrest. The fabric gently strained toward the touch of her hands. Restlessly picking at the saffron cloth weaving in and out of the seat, she yearned for the pattern to slip under her skin.

A minute passed as the girl and chair communed, the only movement contained in the flick of her fingers.

Nanami paused in her pursuit of small-scale destruction as a barely perceptible wobble flickered at the corner of her eye. She blinked, and let her left hand drift to the adjoining end table where it sought out and claimed a rolling bauble.

_The egg is the world._

One look confirmed what she already knew. The pale oval she held in her palm was smooth, warm and fragile. She rolled it back and forth and back again, marvelling at the simple weight of it. It was so small and so perfect.

_If we do not break the shell of the world, we will die without being born._

She briefly considered smashing it into a mess of shards and fluid, before examining the unblemished whiteness that wrapped around and around its surface.

Somewhere in the distance, a stopwatch ticked to a halt, unwound and unheeded. 

Eventually, Nanami slid from her chair to the floor, clutching her prize to her chest. She kneeled, cradling the oval in one hand while pushing against gravity with the other. Her knees popped as she stood, swivelled, and strode purposefully to the door.

It opened with a thought.

The hallway stretched, twined, and narrowed as she made her way past a gallery of canvases. Each frame trapped a fine, flawless golden butterfly, mercilessly pinned down in motionless flight. Each one had a plaque screwed just underneath. She ran her fingers across the engraved names as she walked: _Otohori Kanae... Kaoru Kozue... Takatsuki Shiori... Tsuwabuki Mitsuru... Shinohara Wakaba... Sonoda Keiko... Mikage Souji... Tenjou Utena..._ One name flowed into another under her nails.

The ghost of a tail twined its way around Nanami's ankles.

At the end of the corridor a door creaked inward revealing a wealth of chrome and steel. Wooden cupboards lined the sides of the room while cast iron shapes hung in clusters from the ceiling. A mottled yellow bowl sat on an island counter next to a shining gas range. The element closest to Nanami was on and flickering blue, and she wondered if it had been waiting for her all this time. 

She placed her treasure gently into the bowl before reaching, on tip-toes, for a heavy pan. Released from the hook that held it, the skillet wobbled in her grasp.

_Break the shell..._

She let the pan warm over the element as she searched for a knife. A short excavation of the drawer to her right and she was armed for combat. 

_Break the shell of the world._

A refrigerator offered up a reasonable amount of butter, which she carefully measured and cut. The gash healed itself as she withdrew the knife. She scraped the blade clean on the side of the pan, and as its contents bubbled, she reached for the contents of the bowl. 

_To Revolutionize the World!_

A tap, and the shell cracked, the contents sliding onto unrelenting iron and heat. 

_The egg is the world._

Nanami looked down, seeing the white and yellow mess clearly for the first time. She blinked, releasing lids, eyes and lashes encrusted with dust, time and petty betrayals. She tightened her grip on the skillet handle--

And fried the world with a pat of butter.


End file.
